


Flour Power

by GallifreyisBurning



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Baking, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Neighbors, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyisBurning/pseuds/GallifreyisBurning
Summary: Baker Rose Tyler is used to her neighbor, John, waltzing in to her flat whenever he feels like it. So why, today, is he knocking on her door and insisting on staying in the hall?A bit of next-door-neighbor fluff for SelenaTerna for dwsecretsanta 2018!





	Flour Power

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SelenaTerna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelenaTerna/gifts).



Rose was just settling into her deep, plush sofa with a glass of wine and a book after a long day of work at the bakery whose kitchen she ran when a knock sounded at her flat door, accompanied by a panicked male voice.

“Rose? Are you home?!” 

Rose raised an eyebrow. Usually her neighbor, John, waltzed right in with never so much as a “by your leave.” In the year since she’d moved in next door to him, she’d gotten used to him appearing in her living room, brown eyes sparkling, long arms gesticulating, as he enthusiastically expounded on some random topic as though it were something they’d been discussing together for ages, rather than the first she’d heard of it. At one point, he’d woken her up mid-nap on her sofa by launching into an exuberant lecture on the soporific properties of bananas, and he’d only escaped without bruises because the only weapon she’d had to hand to chase him out of her home with was a rather fluffy throw pillow. 

John was a scientist of some sort — Rose wasn’t entirely sure what kind, because any time she’d asked she’d gotten some sort of prosaic answer such as “of the universe, Rose Tyler!” He lived up to the mad scientist stereotype extremely well, with his hair sticking up in every direction, his manic energy, his genius when it came to complex concepts, and his inability to remember more mundane things such as that not everyone rarely slept and didn’t believe in personal space.

If Rose were honest with herself, aside from the occasional unexpected wake up call, she didn’t mind his habit of wandering into her home in the least. In the time since their first encounter — when he had still expected to find his last neighbor, Sarah Jane, and had been taken aback to walk into a stranger’s living room — she’d come to find the habit somewhat charming. If she were being REALLY honest with herself, she would admit that the charm was at least partially due to her neighbor being an extremely attractive man who always seemed delighted by her company and whom she had quickly fallen more than half in love with… but that level of honesty wasn’t one Rose was particularly comfortable with. 

So, Rose and John were friends, and if he tended to forget that his flat and her flat were, in fact, two separate dwellings… well, she wasn’t going to correct him. Living alone could get quite lonely, although she’d never admit that to her mother (who still wanted her to move back home), and she always felt more relaxed when he was around, despite his tendency to never sit still. And if sometimes his impromptu drop-ins turned into hours spent together chatting and laughing and casually-but-not-casually finding excuses to touch, well, that was just how neighbors were, right? And, okay, if OCCASIONALLY they ended up curled up on the sofa together watching a film until one of them drifted off to sleep, it was obviously just NEIGHBORLY cuddling. That was just how they were. Comfortable. Close. Friends. 

All of this was to say that John announcing himself from the corridor was an entirely new experience. 

“Yeah, I’m here!” she called in mildly concerned answer. “Is everything okay? It’s fine if you come in!”

There was a pause from the hall. Then, in a somewhat sheepish voice, she heard, “I really can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I… well… could you just come here please? I need your help.” 

Curiosity piqued, Rose unfolded herself from the sofa and set her wine on the coffee table before heading to the door. When she opened it, her jaw dropped in shock before she burst into giggles at the sight before her.

Standing in the doorway was John, with the front half of him covered head to toe in what looked like baking flour. It dusted his spiky hair, clung to the front of his oxford and trousers, and coated his face entirely — apart from the rectangular silhouettes around his eyes, where presumably his spectacles had saved him from the worst of whatever had happened. The embarrassed look on his face turned quickly to a pout at Rose collapsed against the doorframe in laughter, her hand failing to cover her grin as she fought back hysterical tears. 

“It’s not THAT funny,” he muttered peevishly. 

“Oh my god, I…” Rose gasped for breath, trying to get herself under control, “I’m so sorry, John. But what did you DO?!” 

John ran a hand through his hair, a frequent nervous habit of his, and then wrinkled his nose and attempted to wipe the flour he’d unintentionally collected onto his pants. This didn’t so much remove the flour from his palm as smear it into the brown pinstriped fabric, leaving a streak like a badly-cleaned chalkboard.

“Oh my god stop, you’re making it worse!” Rose choked, trying to bite back another fit of giggles.

“I had a little baking accident,” John admitted.

“You don’t say!” Rose chortled. “Why were you trying to bake? No offense, but you’re a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Oi! I am not!” John retorted indignantly. Raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest, Rose skimmed her eyes up and down his floury frame. “...okay fine, perhaps things don’t always go one hundred percent according to plan,” John allowed with a grimace. “But it’s Donna’s birthday tonight and I was trying to make her a cake.”

Rose felt her heart melt a little. Donna was John’s older sister, and they were quite close. Rose was touched that he’d wanted to make her a personalized cake, even if the effort had obviously gone rather badly awry.

“Alright, get in here,” she said with a sigh. 

“But…” John objected.

“It’s fine, just come right inside the door. I don’t want to know what appliance you got into a row with to have cake-making end like this, but lucky for you, I do know a trick or two for cleaning up this type of mess. Hazards of the trade, you know,” she grinned at him, tongue between her teeth, as she backed out of the doorway. John returned her grin and followed her into the entryway, stepping cautiously so as not to leave a trail of flour behind him. 

“Thought you might. Brilliant, you are,” he told her as he closed the door carefully behind himself.

“I know. Now don’t move, I’m going to grab the Hoover.” 

“The… Rose Tyler, are you going to HOOVER me?!”

Rose paused as she rummaged in a closet for her handheld vacuum, glanced back over her shoulder at him and smirked. “I’m not going to touch that one, thanks.” John’s jaw dropped and she could see his ears turning pink beneath their snowy coating.

“I didn’t… um… that is to say…” Rose laughed as she retrieved the vacuum and a flannel and headed back toward her neighbor.

“Relax, John, it’s fine. But yeah, this is the best way to get the flour off without making a bigger mess; if you try to wash it, it will all just turn to paste. First, though, let’s get as much of this off your hair and face as we can; otherwise it will just get back on your clothes after we’ve cleaned them.” 

“You’re the boss!” John grinned, having bounced back from his accidental innuendo with aplomb. Rose rolled her eyes.

“Bend forward so that your hair is over the floor,” she instructed. Dutifully, John bowed. Trying to ignore the flutterings in her stomach at what she was about to do, Rose stepped forward and sank her fingers into his hair, ruffling it to loosen the fine powder from the disheveled strands. A shiver ran down John’s back as her fingers grazed his scalp, and Rose paused. “Sorry, ‘s this okay?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Yeah, of course,” John responded quickly, his voice a little higher than usual. “Carry on!” Hesitantly, Rose returned to her ministrations, shaking the majority of the flour from his hair until it was closer to its usual rich brown.

“Okay, now stand up and close your eyes,” Rose directed. Obediently, John straightened up. Rose picked the flannel up from where she’d set it on her countertop and brought it to John’s face. She could see his Adam’s apple bob as she began to gently brush the white powder from his skin, taking care to keep it away from his eyes as she swiped carefully at his forehead, nose, and cheeks. Rose tried to stay detached as she revealed each bit of his freckled skin, but she couldn’t help but be affected by standing this close to him. The way his eyelashes brushed his cheek, the strong line of his usually animated eyebrows, the faint stubble on his chin, the pout of his lower lip… Rose’s breath hitched slightly as she fought the urge to lean in and catch that lip with her own. Damn him for looking so tempting even when he was a disaster! His own shallow breaths seemed slightly shaky as well, however, hinting to Rose that she might not be the only one affected by the odd intimacy of this endeavor. Shaking her head to clear it, Rose stepped back and cleared her throat. John opened his eyes, looking slightly dazed. 

“Right, okay, onto the suit. Now, hold your arms straight out and hold still!” Rose announced brightly. John raised his arms, albeit somewhat trepidatiously, and stood stiffly, as though he expected to be attacked. Rose flicked on the small, handheld vacuum and moved forward. “Here we go!” she announced.

At the first contact of the end of the hose with his shoulder, John giggled. “Oh, that’s BIZARRE!” he announced gleefully. “Never had my clothes hoovered before, what an odd sensation!” Rose laughed. 

“Yeah well, it’d probably feel less weird if you weren’t wearin’ ‘em, but having them on your body gives enough resistance that the fabric doesn’t all just get sucked in and clog it up.” She was careful in her phrasing, making sure it didn’t sound like she was suggesting he kit off in her doorway. She was having enough trouble with this project without dropping more suggestive comments into the conversation. As it was, things were starting to get questionable. She’d vacuumed the flour off of his arms and shoulders, and was now moving down his chest toward his stomach. As she changed direction and ran the slim tube up and down his lithe torso, Rose fought to keep her eyes on her work, not wanting to see what expression went with the changes she sensed in John’s breathing. As she reached the waistband of his trousers she pulled back. The thought of what it would be like to keep going, to run the vacuum carefully down the fly of his trousers and see how he reacted, brought a burning blush to her face.

“Right, I uh… I think you can get it from here,” she announced, shoving the appliance at her friend. 

“Yes, thanks, yes, that seems fair,” John answered rapidly, and she knew that he, too, had been aware of just how FRIENDLY things would have seemed had she continued to work her way downward. Rose stepped behind the counter into the kitchen area of her flat’s main room while John ran the vacuum swiftly up and down his long legs. 

“Now, what kind of cake were you trying to make for Donna?” she asked, beginning to pull basic baking supplies like flour, sugar, eggs, and oil from her cabinets and refrigerator. 

“Chocolate raspberry,” he answered absently, before glancing up and realizing what she was doing. “Oh, but you don’t need to…” he objected.

“Hush, I’m happy to help. I bake because I love it. Besides, from the look of you, I don’t believe for a second that you have any flour left at your own place!”

“True,” he allowed on a sigh, sucking the last few streaks of flour from his trainers and switching the vacuum off. “I do have chocolate and raspberries at the ready, though. I could go grab them and maybe we could make the cake together? Team effort?”

“Perfect,” Rose agreed. James came toward her, handing the vacuum off. Their fingers brushed, and they both paused. Rose bit her lip, looking up at him. His eyes met hers, warm, but uncertain. Reaching up, she used her thumb to wipe a lingering streak of flour from his temple. His eyes drifted closed and he let out what seemed to be an involuntary hum of contentment. Suddenly, Rose had an epiphany. Throughout this whole process, he’d been reacting to her, just as she’d been reacting to him. It was obvious that they were both interested in each other. Hell, everyone had been telling her so for months, but she’d refused to believe them. It seemed silly in retrospect; there was obviously something here. So why was she so scared to do anything about it? Before she could psych herself out of it, Rose lifted on her toes and pressed her lips lightly against his, pulling back almost immediately. When she looked back up at him, his eyes were wide with surprise. She coughed. “Missed a spot,” she hedged. At her awkwardness, his face broke slowly into a toothy grin, eyes twinkling. She glowered. “Shut up!” He grinned wider. Rose blushed to the roots of her hair and turned to hide her face.

“I should have baking accidents more often,” John mused cheekily from behind her. Rose turned back and smacked him lightly on the arm, and he caught her hand and entwined his fingers with hers, meeting her eyes, letting the sincerity of how he was feeling show in his expression. Then, he slid his other hand into her hair, pulling her back toward him for another kiss. As their mouths moved softly against one another, tongues lightly meeting in a dance that felt as natural as breathing, Rose couldn’t help but agree.


End file.
